


That's Something Else

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [45]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark Dean Winchester, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, POV Outsider, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Dean Winchester, Post-Series, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2463278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks after the fundraiser at the Center, Troy heads into downtown Chicago. He stops at the Farmer's Market in the Daley Plaza. A former coworker crosses his path and begins to tell him about a lawyer he just might know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Something Else

The Daley Plaza is in downtown Chicago, smack dab in the Loop. It possesses several memorable attributes; thousands of people pass through it every day. Tours of the city tout the Plaza as being home of The Picasso, a 50-foot statue Picasso gave as a gift to the city in the sixties. Chicagoans will refer to Picasso as a meeting spot, since the Plaza is central to several major L stops.

A mere few steps away, the Blue Line Washington stop is the closest one of those stops. From O’Hare International Airport in the suburbs, the Blue Line winds its way downtown, and then out to some distant place that isn’t Chicago and therefore does not deserve a mention. This is how Troy knows the Blue Line and how he sees the city as a whole. He also knows that his client is off of the California stop, and that the Farmer’s Market in the Plaza goes on through the end of October. So, he might as well swing by on the way. Afterwards, he can walk a few blocks east to the Red Line stop.

Troy is familiar with downtown. He knows his way around the Blue and Red Lines, but anything past the Chinatown stop is unknown territory. The North Side is so much more civilized in his opinion, though he will venture downtown to the opera if so inclined. The only problem is that there are always so many people. No. Boystown has always been good enough for his interests. Over the years he has supported dozens of plays and productions through the Center. There has never been any need to expand his sights further than Addison and Halsted. Brad will occasionally get the frightening, harebrained idea to go into Bucktown or Wicker Park, but the Sub T is always so damn noisy and they never have drag shows.

Ever since that fundraiser, Brad has had it in his mind that Troy is completely uninterested in doing anything new. That is grossly untrue. Troy is capable of expanding his horizons. If Brad had such a dire interest in doing whatever it is he wants to do, he should have spoken up sooner. These urges are the product of meeting Juana’s lackey and his fake as hell “partner.” No one believes Troy that the entire thing was staged. It had to be. Shit like that doesn’t fucking _happen_. No one bribes the DJ at a party to play—oh god—country music. No real, respectable gay man dances to that shit, and they certainly don’t know the words. It was ghastly. And a set-up. Juana probably sent what she thought was the most attractive looking man in the office and forced him to take his friend along. He wouldn’t put it past Juana to do that.

And he wouldn’t put it past two straight men to have a good laugh about playing gay for an evening, plus getting a fat check out of it. It’s been two weeks since that night. As Troy steps off the Blue Line, he finds himself thinking about it all over again, annoyed at the very idea of country music.

He wonders if Juana promised those two a cut of the check.

After the Division stop, the Blue Line goes underground. At Washington, there is a flight of stairs to climb to get above ground again. Troy huffs during the climb, aggravated and tense. He can do new things. And he has a wonderful personality. All of his friends at the Center that night assured him that the man with Sam had been waiting in the lobby, muttering and swearing. He might not even know Sam. For all anyone knows, Sam could have paid him five dollars to come in off the street and wow them with a bunch of smoke and mirrors. He was obviously crazy. And Sam works for Juana, so he is already crazy.

Out on the sidewalk, Troy rewraps his scarf, looks around to orient himself, and walks towards the swarm of people. Stalls line the perimeter of the Plaza and vendors shout out prices. A leap across Randolph and Troy makes his way through. Next week is the last Farmer’s Market, but the Plaza won’t be empty for long; Christkindlmarket opens sometime late November. Brad likes going to that, though Troy complains it’s more crowded than Market Days in their neighborhood.

Back to present business. Troy looks at tomatoes in the first stall he walks near. They look too… red. And they’re way too expensive. Ninety-nine cents a pound? Who would pay that much for tomatoes? They’re just tomatoes. This stall is obviously a rip-off, out to make money off of tourists. Troy advances on, pushing through the crowds, trying to think of the dish he’ll make for Brad. That’s the point of this. He can be fun and interesting. He’ll make Brad a big, home cooked meal and treat him to a massage after it. That’s exactly what Brad needs: he needs to relax.

Four stalls in and Troy can’t find anything that looks appropriate. Why are the lemons in the third stall different shapes and sizes? And he doesn’t care what the movie is called, he’s not about to fry green tomatoes. A few hipster types rave about the kale from stall six, but Troy can’t stand kale.

“Troy!”

At the sound of his name called out, Troy looks for the source. He waves when he sees who it is. Millie is an old coworker, from a firm he worked at three years ago. She’s bundled up, but still gives him a quick hug. “I thought it was you! How are you, Troy? Good to see you!”

“Oh, honey, you know.” Troy smiles, relieved to see a familiar and friendly face.

“I do, goodness, it’s been a scream though. How’s Brad? Are you two…?”

“Oh, yes!” This comes out a little more eager than Troy means it. Quickly, he asks after her family, who came in from Cambodia the last time he saw her. “How’s the bunch?”

Sighing, Millie fixes her hair. “Chaotic as always, dear. We should have lunch sometime. And I’ve got to tell you about Christopher.”

Christopher was pre-Brad. He was the first lawyer Troy ever wanted to date. Lawyers should never date other lawyers. It is a rule. But he is interested to know what Millie means. As they start walking, Troy coaxes the story out of Millie, who has always been a reliable source of information. At an apple stall, she picks out a pound and tells him the last, juiciest part. “So Juana—you remember her—took him aside after his case, right in the courthouse, and offered him the job! No one knew she was looking for someone. Apparently, her main lawyer wants to scale back.”

“Rookie,” Troy mutters. “Can’t handle the pressure, I suppose.”

“Oh no,” Millie continues, shaking her head. “Not that. I met him once, at a lunch thing. He’s incredibly sweet. Got a degree from Stanford.”

“So why is he bailing, besides working for that witch.”

“You’re terrible,” Millie laughs. “But no, I think he gets along with Juana. I mean, I do too, she’s really changed. Okay, okay, don’t give me that look.” She pays and starts walking again. “I suck at names. God. What’s his name? Tall. Jesus, if I introduced him to my parents they’d stare.”

At the point, Troy is less interested in whoever this person is and what the hell Christopher is thinking moving from his firm to Juana’s circus. The world of non-profit law is small in Chicago, and the full-time positions are scarce. Going part-time to help out someone who wants to ‘scale back’ would be a step down. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he needs to pick out something to take back home and present to Brad. And at this point, Troy just wants to get out of the Picasso’s shadow and into his lounge clothes. A glass of wine is in his near future.

Millie derails Troy from his train of thought. She taps his shoulder. “Oh! Oh my god, that’s him!”

“Christopher?” Troy blurts out.

“No,” she corrects and stops at a stall to look at green beans. “The other… the one I was talking about.”

It’s ten to three and already, the light of day is beginning to fade from the city. But the Plaza is constantly lit, and over by where Millie is pointing the fountain lights add a hazy, bright look to things, like one of those ghastly faux art paintings Troy often sees in waiting rooms.

“That’s him, yep, I’m sure of it.” Millie buys two pounds of green beans. “He’s so tall, see him?”

Troy does.

“Sam,” he says at the same time as Millie.

“Yeah! Do you know him?”

Firmly, Troy states, “No.”

“Oh, well, I can introduce you two…?”

“Not necessary, trust me.”

Millie shakes her head. “Alright, Troy. But he’s a good contact to have. I don’t think Juana was the only reason he left. Oh. Looks like he’s waiting for someone.”

Across the Plaza, Troy can see the upset expression on Sam’s face. Maybe his girlfriend broke up with him. Maybe she heard about his escapades playing gay. Or maybe he is actually in love with that crazed man he paid to show up at the Center. It has to be that. Because Troy sees that moron advancing through the crowd, walking with his cane, carrying a plastic bag in the other hand. Troy huffs. He wants nothing to do with either of them. But on second thought, as he watches the crazy man walk up to Sam, he thinks he might just get a word in—give that idiot a piece of his mind.

The man stops an inch in front of Sam. That’s close.

Immediately, Sam’s expression softens.

Near Picasso, Sam gives the faintest smile and shakes his head. The plastic bag is held up and the contents are taken out. It’s nothing more than a glass jar of honey with a big red bow on it. Sam’s eyes light up. He sets his briefcase down on the ground and leans in. With the jar of honey between them, they kiss.

They kiss like no one else is around them. Like no one else has any right to exist.

Softly, Millie sighs. “They look like they’re in love.”

Troy looks away. His face is aflame and his entire body is tense. “That’s not love. It’s something else.”

Something unhealthy. Something twisted. Something that doesn’t let go until everyone is devoured. That’s what it is. Looking up one more time, Troy inhales sharply. He meets the shorter man’s eyes.

And in them, Troy sees the something else.

It makes his blood run cold.

The man smiles and turns Sam’s attention to the jar of honey, cracking a joke. He takes one more look at Troy and shrugs when Sam asks him a question. It looks like Sam is asking, “Who is it?”

Later, on the train, Troy will swear to himself that he heard a voice, all the way from across the Plaza, over the noise of people shopping, and far above the erratic beat of his own heart. He heard it. He did. It happened and no one will ever be able to convince him that he didn’t. The voice was familiar from the night at the Center, but distorted by shadows. It came in a whisper. It came with a cold snap.

It said:

“No one, Sam. That’s no one.”  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the reader who suggested this! what fun to write. :D 
> 
> into season 10, i just have to say that the intensity brought by J2 is absolutely amazing. i love how much can be expressed by just one look. i hope you get that from here--that kind of look that says, "back the fuck off." /shudders/ 
> 
> hope you enjoyed something a little different for TCV.


End file.
